


Violet On My Mind

by sunsetandvineyards



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Awkward Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Romance, Silly Boys, Strangers to Lovers, college grad Armie, flower shop timmy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:07:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22661491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsetandvineyards/pseuds/sunsetandvineyards
Summary: Armie's late.He’s really late. The dinner reservation is in merely half an hour, all the way on the other side of the fucking city, and Armie is still empty handed. Still needs to figure this out.And on Valentines Day, of all days.~~~~Or the one where Armie is in desperate need of a Valentines bouquet and Timmy is the flower shop clerk. They meet. It's pretty cute. And Armie finds himself buying flowers much more often, after that.
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Comments: 102
Kudos: 165





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Couldn't shake the image of a cute, flower boy Tim from my mind. So here this is. Was intended to be a one-shot but got kind of carried away. Will most likely be 3 chapters! But who really knows.

Armie’s late.  
  
He’s _really_ late. The dinner reservation is in merely half an hour, all the way on the other side of the fucking city, and Armie is _still_ empty handed. Still needs to figure this out.  
  
And okay, Armie is under the impression that this isn’t entirely his fault, that he definitely should be cutting himself some slack right about now because his boss has been working him to the goddam _bone_ these last few months. Has been the reason Armie is up every morning at the crack of dawn, up and making his way down to the subway station when the birds are barely even chirping and the coffee shops have just begun to open. Is the reason that Armie is always leaving the office much too late, later than anyone else on his floor, with his feet dragging along behind him and long after the sun has already set. Long past the point where Armie’s eyes have begun to burn, after his head has begun to throb. And definitely long after he’s given up on any plans to grab takeout on the way home for dinner, or to eat whatever leftovers are waiting for him on the stove, to instead just stumble back to the apartment and crash into bed, utterly exhausted.  
  
And needless to say, although he had been expecting it from this role, Armie’s new internship definitely hasn’t been easy. Has been kind of kicking him in the ass. Most days, he tries not to mind. Tries to suck it up because he _needs_ this job. Knows that he needs it because this is only the beginning. Because this role could be the necessary catalyst to have him climbing the corporate ladder, to getting him where he wants to go. And therefore, he tries to remember that he is lucky enough to have even landed this kind of gig so soon out of college. Often reminds himself that all of his buddies would be dying to be in his place right about now, working for such a prestigious law firm, the rest of them still struggling to find work or pay rent in the ruthless corporate climate of NYC.  
  
But on other days, on days very much like today, when Armie’s eyes are so groggy that he can barely see straight and his stomach so empty that it’s practically burning a hole straight through his abdomen, it kind of starts to get to him. Finds that he’s getting pretty sick of his fucked up sleep schedule and his lap dog behaviour. Finds that he’s getting pretty tired of fetching coffee multiple times a day (for business execs who definitely don’t remember what a cup of joe even costs) and scheduling mundane eye appointments or dental check ups for a grown ass adult who is more than able. He’s getting pretty sick of morning reports that are needed in _20 minutes, on my desk, not a minute later._ Because like, shit. It’s just _hard,_ okay?  
  
And that’s why Armie finds himself in his current predicament. Finds himself with his leather clad feet hastily hitting the pavement of the busy NYC sidewalk as he all but sprints, weaving in and out of the sea of people as best he can, muttering an urgent “excuse me” or “pardon me” every few seconds as he rushes by. Because today, Armie had slipped and attempted to take advantage of a rare occurrence. Had decided to plug in his ear buds and bury his face in a stack of his papers, to catch up on some much needed sleep while Armie knew that his boss would be too busy and tied up in meetings for the rest of the afternoon to come looking for him.

But of course, as his life goes, Armie had overslept. And his short power nap had only come to an end several hours later when he had awoken to the buzzing of his phone, to the flashing reminder on his screen indicating that the reservation was at 7pm. In _half an hour._  
  
And so, alas. Armie is now really fucking late. And on _Valentines Day_ , of all days.  
  
Sarah is going to _kill him.  
  
_  
  
By the time he’s reached the end of the block, just a few roads down from his office, Armie has successfully managed to collide with only 3 people and has tripped over only 4 potholes. So if you’re asking him, things are starting to look a little bit up. However, as he approaches the small flower shop that he’d spotted a few weeks back while out on a business errand, he can’t help but catch his reflection in the window of the front entrance. Sees that his slicked back hair is now in complete disarray from the windy evening weather. He attempts to quickly smooth it down but finally gives up when his phone buzzes again in his palm with another reminder. He glances down. 25 minutes now. _Fuck._ _  
_ _  
_Hair instantly forgotten, Armie hurriedly pushes open the door to the shop, small chime ringing overhead as he enters to signal his arrival. Cringing, he lets out a slow breath as he glances around, noting how the shop already looks thoroughly picked over. Takes in how there’s only a few buckets of flowers and a few sad, lonely looking plants remaining near the back corner shelves. Crap. Rubbing a rough hand over his eyes and down his face, Armie exhales. Tries not to panic. This can totally be salvaged. Yes, of course. He just needs to find the store clerk and see if they can help Armie put something together with what flowers are remaining in like, um, about 3 minutes flat? And then he’ll be on his merry way, bouquet in hand, just in time for the 7 pm dinner reservation. Well, maybe just a _little_ bit late. But that’s okay. Yep, everything will be _just fine._

“Uh, hello?” Armie calls out then into the empty shop, frown forming on his lips. He looks at his watch, waits a few moments. And when there’s still no response, he shuffles forward toward the front, hovers at the desk there and taps the pads of his fingers against his thigh impatiently. A few more beats pass and Armie’s just about to call out again, increasingly agitated, when he notices the small bell sitting on the counter in front of him with a “ring for service” sign. So he does. Hits the bell three times for urgency and once more out of annoyance. Cause it's _Valentines Day_ , for god sake. And he’s got places to be. So where _is_ everyone?  
  
But just then, someone emerges from the backroom. They're holding a large bucket of flowers, face completely masked by an array of leaves and petals and their thin, wiry legs barely seem to be holding up the weight of it. Looks like they can barely manage on their own. And Armie has the initial instinct to move forward and assist, to reach out and help. But before he can even act on it, before he can offer, the thin framed worker is aggressively heaving the bucket onto the front counter with a small grunt, water sloshing out the top and spilling over the sides. Armie takes a step back, nose scrunching up in irritation, attempts to avoid the onslaught of dripping flowers from spattering against his suit pants. Glancing down, he brushes away a few stray drops from his pea coat, steps to the side, and when he looks back up, there’s a headful of curls peeking out from behind the large bucket. A wide smile beaming back at him.  
  
“Hey, hi! Sorry for the wait. How can I help you?”  
  
And Armie stills. Because well, there's a _boy_ staring back at him.  
  
And Armie was...uh, not expecting this.  
  
And yeah, that sounds kind of stupid because it's not as though Armie had been expecting anyone in _particular._ It's not as though he spends his free time sitting around thinking, _hey, I really wonder who works at he local floral shop down on Fifth._ No, definitely not. But well, if Armie's being completely honest, he still can't help but feel surprised. Can't help but feel slightly taken aback because he had just been expecting someone... _else_? Had probably been expecting to see some sort of sweet, older lady who had decided to open up this shop during retirement, a hobby that she had perhaps always wanted to pursue. Or maybe a young, teenage girl who had just started her first part-time job, who was still barely able to work the register confidently and who took three times too long to count out his change. And honestly, Armie’s not really sure _who_ he had been expecting to speak to or who he had been expecting to see. But what he _does_ know is that he definitely hadn’t been expecting...well... _this_ _._ _  
_ _  
_Had not been expecting this kid who looked to be somewhere in his early 20s, with his headful of tousled curls that somehow seemed to perfectly frame a set of deep, green eyes and angular cheeks. Definitely did not expect to be met with the sight of pale, milky skin that seemed to perfectly compliment a pair of flushed pink and _just bitten_ looking lips. This kid who was just standing there behind the counter casually, palms resting flat on the counter, as if he had no goddam clue what he even looked like. Just standing there in an all black attire adorned with a freaking _pastel blue_ apron.  
  
And just. Well.  
  
Armie’s at a loss for words. Because this kid is _sinfully_ pretty. That’s for certain. Prettier than most girls he knows. And it has Armie instantly self conscious about his own disordered appearance, has him awkwardly reaching up to pat at his hair again because this kid is pretty in a way that has Armie feeling a bit nervous, out of his depth. Pretty in a way that has Armie staring back at him blankly, mouth agape, and unable to prevent his eyes from trailing down the expanse of the kid’s long, pale neck. Can’t help but follow the loose curls that hang there, the freckles that disappear under the collar of his black polo shirt and -  
  
“Hello?” The kid says again and Armie snaps his eyes up, startled. Meets the kid’s gaze. Sees that he has his brow creased in confusion and hands twisting awkwardly around the stem of a daisy. Armie’s eyes fall for the briefest of moments to the kid’s hand, to his slender fingers which are idly playing at one of the stem’s leaves. Notices the stack of bracelets that garnish his thin wrist. And when Armie finally manages to find his voice, he has to clears his throat. Has to ease into it.  
  
“Uh, right,” Armie says, cheeks heating. He steps forward toward the counter. Swallows. “Right. See, I’m kind of in a rush. I really need something quick because I’ve got to be somewhere in like…” He holds up his wrist and glances at his watch again. _Shit._ 20 minutes. But he doesn’t get a chance to finish his thought because the kid laughs then. And when Armie looks up he finds that the boy’s eyes have crinkled up in amusement. That his mouth his open as small, breathless sounds tumble from his lips. And okay. Well, _that_ was something Armie definitely enjoyed listening to. Can’t help but find his own mouth curving into a small smile.  
  
“Yeah, you and _every other_ guy in the city today,” the kid chuckles. But his hands are already starting to collect handfuls of flowers from the bucket in front of him, delicately arranging them as he continues. “You’re not the only one, don’t worry. I can do you up a quick bouquet, sure. What, around 60 bucks or so?”  
  
Armie has to focus on peeling his eyes away from the kid’s hands, has to try harder than he should to stop picturing them wrapped around his own fingers or arms. Because he doesn’t think he’s ever _seen_ pretty hands like this before. Do people even _h_ _ave_ pretty hands? Is this a thing that Armie just hasn’t been aware of for the past, uh, 24 years of his life? Because he doesn’t think so. Armie’s pretty sure he would have noticed a pair of hands before if they had looked like _this_ _kid’s_ hands. And _Jesus Christ._ What the hell was wrong with him?  
  
“Uh, let’s do ninety,” Armie responds finally, already digging into his pocket to grab his wallet. And he’s not sure why because the kid’s definitely nowhere near finished yet. But Armie feels like he needs something to grab onto, something to fiddle with as he stands here. Feels kind of awkward, on edge. The boy cocks his brow, smirks.  
  
“Ah, lucky lady,” he says. “Sure, I’ll use mostly roses then. Be right back.” He turns on his heel then and Armie watches as the boy disappears into the backroom once more, realizes that the shop probably has more stock back there and feels immensely relieved. Is glad that he won’t have to just show up with a bustle of wilted, unwanted flowers that had been picked over and left behind from the day’s earlier customers. When the kid emerges again, he’s got another bucket. This time, Armie takes a step back before it’s being slammed onto the counter alongside the other, holds back a laugh when water splashes everywhere yet again. “She like Violet?”  
  
“Um, yeah,” Armie answers, nodding. Brings his free hand to rub at the back of his neck. “I mean, I think?” The boy laughs at this, bites at his lip. Armie pointedly does not look at his mouth.  
  
“Purple. Most girls do.”  
  
And Armie doesn’t really know how to reply to that, isn’t really sure what most girls like. So, he doesn’t say anything. Just stands there and watches as the kid works. Watches, enthralled, as he carefully and swiftly places stem after stem together, face scrunching up in endearing concentration. Watches as the boy’s curls fall forward into his eyes, as he uses the back of his hand to brush them out of his face, sees how the water from the flower stems smear against his forehead and stick a few strands together. Armie watches as the boy nimbly picks up several different flowers, twisting them all together in just the right way, looks on as the boy adds a small pop of white and pink carnations, some baby’s breath here and there, a little bit of greenery.

And once he’s all done, once the kid has given the bundle in his hands a look over to assess, he's lifting his gaze, eyes meeting Armie's in search of approval. So Armie just nods. Grins. Desperately hopes it isn't evident how intently he has just been watching the boy, hopes that his face can hide how smitten he's feeling just about now.  
  
Clearly satisfied with his work and pleased with Armie's go ahead, the kid is pulling out a large sheet of cellophane and a few pieces of matching violet tissue paper now, lays them all out in front of him on the counter. Then he's wrapping the arrangement all up in a tidy cone, finishing it off with a large satin ribbon and a sticker that reads "The Pink Peony." Huh. Armie hadn't even gotten a chance to read the shop's name before all but flying inside. And then the kid looks up at Armie from under his curls, mouth quirked to one side (and god, he has to be doing that on purpose, _right?_ ), and points to the display of small cards sitting to the side of the counter.  
  
“Want one? They’re complimentary,” he tells Armie, reaching out to pick one off of the small wrack before Armie can even agree. “We have ones specifically for Valentines Day, too.” He holds the card out to him, one decorated with small hearts around the boarder and the word “Love” splayed across the top. Yeah, okay, Armie thinks. Good enough.  
  
“Thanks,” Armie says, reaches out to grab it. And when he does so, the pads of his fingers brush against the other boy’s and Armie feels a small jolt of heat trail up the back of his neck. “This one’s good.” The boy nods and then he's grabbing a pen from the register, is holding it out silently for Armie to take. Armie gives him a strange look.  
  
“For the message,” the kid tells him simply, glancing down pointedly at the card still in Armie’s hands.  
  
“Oh, no. I don’t need that now,” Armie replies, already moving to slip the card into the side pocket of his wallet. He retrieves two fifty dollar bills while he’s at it, watches as the boy just shrugs.  
  
“Okay, but here,” he says, moving to place a plastic card stick into the middle of the bouquet. “Put it on this when it’s done. It looks nice that way.” And Armie nods, offers the boy a smile.  
  
“Great, will do,” Armie says, reaching out to place the cash on the counter next to the register and almost immediately regrets it. Tries to ignore the disappointment that blooms when he realizes it's a missed opportunity, that Armie has just cheated himself out of another finger brush. And okay, _what the hell?_ That's a really weird thought to have. And Armie has to actively stop himself from rolling his eyes because why on earth is he acting like a 15 year old girl? Why on earth is he acting like this is the first time he's ever spoken to an attractive person in his life? “These look amazing,” Armie says then. “Thanks. You really saved my ass, you have _no idea.”_ And he purposefully ignores the flutter in his gut when the kid just smiles at him again in response. Because Armie swears that this boy could solve world hunger with how bright that stupid smile of his is. Is pretty sure it's blinding him and completely throwing off his focus right now.  
  
“I kind of do,” the boy remarks, pink lips curving into a playful smirk. “I mean, we’ve even got a _dog house_ card over here.” And Armie can’t prevent the laugh that he lets out at that, can't stop the way it bubbles up through his throat. He just shakes his head in amusement as the boy continues. “But no problem, my pleasure. I Hope she loves them.”  
  
The boy is smiling at him again, head cocked to the side as as he says so, and he’s all teeth and sparkly eyes. All soft, delicate looking cheeks and fluffy brown curls. And Armie’s breath feels kind of tight, suddenly feels strange. Suddenly feels like he doesn’t really want to go, like he’s already missing something and he hasn't even had a chance to leave. Which is pretty stupid. Because….just. _What?_  
  
“Hey, listen..." Armie starts, pauses to lick at his own lips. Notices how dry they feel right about now. How hot the air suddenly is. And the boy is looking at him expectantly, palms resting against the counter top as he leans slightly forward, eyes bright. But just as he's about to continue, just as Armie is about to introduce himself and ask for the kid's name in return, his phone buzzes with a text, cutting him off. And when he glances down, when Armie sees the name on the screen, the man can’t help but groan in frustration. Stress levels immediately climbing.  
  
 **Sarah: Armie, where the hell** ** _are_** **you?!?!**  
  
 _Shit._  
  
He really has to get going. Really doesn't have anymore time to waste. So instead of carrying on, Armie simply reaches out and grabs the flowers from the counter, holds them up in front of him to examine. They really did look great, the different tones of violet and lavender blending together beautifully and it was clear that the kid definitely knew what he was doing, that he had probably been working here for quite some time now. And when Armie looks back over at him, as he takes in the sight of the boy in front of him once more, he desperately tries to rid the lingering sense of disappointment that's already settling in his chest.  
  
“ _Shit._ Sorry, I'm really late," Armie finally manages to say, forces a smile that he's pretty sure doesn't meet his eyes as he starts backing up. “I don't need my receipt. But thanks again. You have a good night, alright?”   
  
“Wait!” The boy exclaims just as Armie turns to leave, just before he can reach the door. Armie stills, glances back over his shoulder. “Your change,” the boy explains simply, holding up a ten dollar bill and arm outstretched toward him. But the blonde man simply shakes his head, holds up his own hand in the air, waves him off.  
  
“Keep it,” Armie calls back, offering the boy one last smile.   
  
Then he's quickly turning again to make his way out the door, just as hastily as when he had first come in, the bell chiming above him as he exits into the cold February air. And once he's outside, once the harsh wind is biting at the skin of his ears and neck, the man can't help but notice that he's got this weird, fresh kind of ache in his chest. Can't seem to ignore the unsettled and raw feeling that’s telling him to just _turn around,_ to go back inside and get the kid’s name after all. But Armie doesn’t even have a moment to seriously contemplate this, doesn't have a minute to reconsider, just knows that he’s got to getting going _now_ or else his boss is seriously going to murder him. Knows that there's a fair chance he could end up jobless tomorrow morning if he doesn't start to move his ass.  
  
So, he doesn't turn back. Instead, Armie decides to forgo the short walk to the subway because he’s already way too late, quickly strides over the curb of the road and lifts up an arm to hail a taxi. He gets one pretty quickly, it only taking a minute or so, and then the tall man is climbing into the backseat of the car, all the while mindful of the flowers, careful to protect them as he lays them out on the leather cushion. And once he’s buckled up and has given the driver directions to the restaurant, Armie's pulling out his phone, immediately swiping to the conversation with his boss.  
  
 **Armie: Sorry sorry. On my way. Be there in 10. Promise** **  
** **  
** **Sarah: Fine.  
**  
 **Sarah:** **Meet you out front.**  
  
Armie rolls his eyes. Hard. Curses under his breath at her response because he really wishes that he could just text her back and tell her off. Really wishes that he could just tell his boss that _she_ could have went and gotten the flowers for her _own fucking girlfriend_ on Valentines Day. That she didn’t have to send _Armie._ That if she had just gone herself, that Armie wouldn’t have been running late tonight and he wouldn’t have been cutting into her precious dinner reservations just about now. But apparently, Armie’s growing to learn that “intern” is just another word for “errand boy” in this type of industry because Sarah has had him running around town every goddam day for one thing or another.   
  
So instead, as he leans his head back against the seat, Armie sighs. Rubs a hand over his face.  
  
Just tries to remember that he _really_ needs this job.  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Armie's such a dork. I love it <3

A few weeks pass by and Armie’s struggling to stay afloat at work. Well, struggling more so than usual, that is. His firm’s busy season is in full swing now which means that Armie is even more exhausted and even more fed up than usual. Meaning that the man is currently managing to live off of many more microwave dinners, frozen waffles, and cups of coffee than he would usually care to admit because he’s constantly sprinting from one meeting to the next at all hours of the day. Finds himself being summoned every which way by Sarah to run _this_ errand and to attend _that_ appointment and to _oh right, also reach out to my father and cancel dinner tonight because I really don’t have the time_ , as though this is entirely what Armie had spent several years of his life slaving over his textbooks and notes during school for.  
  
As though this had definitely been his life aspiration.  
  
(He’s clearly not bitter about it, though. No, not at all).  
  
And despite being completely drowned in work and forcing himself to drag his ass out of bed and to the office each day with even less sleep than usual, Armie still can’t seem to get the pretty boy from the flower shop out of his head.  
  
And to be honest, it’s getting a little pathetic.  
  
Well.  
  
Actually, It’s getting _really_ pathetic.  
  
Because Valentines Day was almost _3 fucking weeks ago_ at this point. And although Armie knows that a _normal_ person probably would have forgotten all about the encounter by now, that a normal person would have probably just moved on with their busy life and brushed aside the memory of some silly, 10 minute interaction with a random stranger in which he had barely managed to even string together proper sentences, Armie well….Armie hasn’t.  
  
Instead, he finds himself spending almost every waking minute of his (very limited and valuable) free time replaying that evening in his mind. Unable to shake the memory. Can’t help but find his mind wandering mid-day, between his countless meetings and phone calls, back to the kid’s pink lips and his grass green eyes. Can’t help but remember the cute tuff of curls peeking atop of buckets far too large, far too heavy, that they had threatened to pull the small boy over.  
  
Finds himself desperately trying to think of reasons to head back over to the shop a few blocks down. Constantly contemplating different scenarios and various excuses that all result in him somehow stumbling through the shop’s heavy wooden doors once more, escaping the winter air and flurries outside, to instead come face to face with the adorable, curly haired boy that he just can’t seem to shake. So that he’s met once again with a face so pretty that Armie doesn’t think he can ever forget the way it had gotten his breath stuck in his throat and his tongue all wrapped up, tied. **  
****  
**However, despite the embarrassingly vast amount of time Armie spends pondering this, and despite the many days that Armie tries to convince himself to just go back over there and give this all another go, to grant himself a second chance where he would actually make sure to introduce himself and ask for the boy’s name or number...Armie doesn’t. Finds himself stuck. Can’t seem to come up with any reason to return that doesn’t seem completely _obvious._ Can’t think up a scenario that doesn’t have him appearing, in his mind at least, like someone utterly creepy or desperate. Because Armie’s _not_ desperate, okay? No, not at all.  
  
(And if obsessing over this random kid again because of one chance encounter is considered something that a _desperate_ person would do, well that’s for only Armie to know and for the other boy never to find out. Right).   
  
So needless to say, when Sarah appears in front of his desk one Monday afternoon, fingernails tapping away hastily atop her phone as she composes another email, barely even looking Armie in the eye and asks him to pick up some more flowers for Tabitha’s birthday that night, Armie’s pretty fucking elated. Tries to keep his cool. Wills the excitement not to meet his eyes because okay, yeah, he can _totally_ do this. He can definitely keep it together this time. Knows that he can act like the cool and sophisticated lawyer type (well...intern. But whatever), rather than the awkward and flustered version of himself that he definitely came across as last time.  
  
“Yeah,” Armie says immediately, already moving to close up his computer screen and stand up. “Sure, no problem. I’ll head over there now.” But the woman just waves him off, just shakes her head.  
  
“No, I need you here,” She replies, deadpan. Briefly glancing up from her screen, raising her brow. “I have that new client in about 20 minutes and then I’m stuck in meetings for the rest of the day. Just get them delivered or something.” Armie feels his face fall, tries not to frown.  
  
“Oh,” He replies, clears his throat. “Yeah, sure. Delivered to Tabitha or here?”  
  
“Here, obviously,” Sarah responds, rolling her eyes. Armie has to bite at the inside of his cheek. Has to force a smile rather than a grimace.   
  
“Sure, will do. I’ll get right on it.”  
  
  
  
  
When Armie had finally gotten around to calling the shop later that day during his lunch break, he may or may not have been a little anxious when he dialled the Pink Peony’s number. Because he may or may not have been wondering, _hoping_ even, that the curly haired boy from a few weeks back would be the one to answer his call. And like, okay, _maybe_ Armie had been just slightly disappointed, only slightly bothered, when some young girl picked up instead. Had tried not to scowl when her bright, cheerful voice met his ears and when she asked Armie to describe what kind of arrangement he was looking for.  
  
Had tried not to be a dick while thinking about how the other boy was a lot more helpful than she was being. How the other boy had pretty much _told_ Armie what he was looking for on Valentines Day because clearly, what the hell did Armie know about flowers? Nothing, that’s what. This time however, Armie had just settled on telling the girl purple. Because all girls like purple, right?  
  
Or so he’s been told.  
  
“Alright, amazing,” The girl had said then when they wrapped up the order and Armie had provided the payment details. “Our delivery guy will be there around three. Does that work? What floor should he ask for?” And the way that Armie’s stomach dipped at the word _“he”_ should have been pretty embarrassing. Should have brought him a little more concern.  
  
“Floor 11,” Armie had just replied quickly, voice too eager. “Uh, and tell him to ask for Armie when he gets here. Armie Hammer. Yeah, tell him that.”  
  
And so, that’s how Armie finds himself now, with the time finally nearing 3pm (not that he had been watching the clock, or anything), his knee bouncing beneath his desk a little too fast, and his fingers tapping against the top of his desk restlessly. He glances at his watch once more and bites at his inner lip. Peers over at his reflection in the dark laptop screen to run a hand through his hair. Smoothes it down. Rolls his eyes, huffs in frustration when that one strand in front falls back into view as it always does. Attempts again. No success. Gives up and is just about to reach for his second drawer and pop a piece of gum because you know, _just in case,_ when his desk phone rings and he sees the secretary’s name flashing. Armie doesn’t miss a beat, instantly grabs it.  
  
“Hello?” Armie breathes when he brings the phone to his ear.  
  
“Hi, Armie,” Florence says. “We have a flower delivery up front. Do you mind coming to sign?” Armie’s already nodding, face lighting up.  
  
“Yeah, I’ll be right there,” He answers, doesn't bother to say goodbye.  
  
Just hangs up the phone and smoothes out his dress shirt. Stands from his desk chair but then thinks twice, bends back down to retrieve that gum from his desk. Unwraps one and pops a single piece into his mouth before beginning to make his way to the front of the office. And he can feel how his legs are moving a bit too fast beneath him but can’t even help himself. Can’t seem to stifle his urgency because Armie had been _waiting_ for this chance for almost 3 weeks now, has been imagining this do-over. And this time, Armie isn’t going to be caught off guard. _This time,_ Armie will be in his own element, in his own space, will simply saunter up to the front and show the boy that he’s not usually the stumbling, awkward mess that he was back on that day when they first met. That he’s capable of keeping his composure. That he’s actually usually pretty good at speaking to attractive people, thank you very much.  
  
Will be _totally_ cool and collected.  
  
Yep.   
  
And so with that being said, the man swiftly weaves his way through the maze of cubicles. Does his very best not to collide with the edges of desks or the backs of reclined chairs in his haste. Offers polite smiles to several colleagues as he goes, all the while keeping his eyes trained to the front entrance. Eyes hopefully scanning, searching, attempting to seek out a pile of brown curls atop the sea of working heads. And when he’s almost at the front, when he’s almost at Florence's desk, Armie has already got a large, beaming smile painted to his face. Is already set to greet the other boy with a warm, kind hello. To reach out his hand in recognition and make up for his initial shortcomings.  
  
However, as he rounds the corner and finally turns to meet the individual standing to the left of Florence, Armie feels his face instantly drop. Feels his expression immediately falter because he’s met with the sight of someone completely different. Feels a little deflated because this man standing there, the one who is casually holding a large box with a vase of flowers sticking out the top of it, has light auburn hair, looks to be in his mid 40’s, and is definitely _not_ the angelic faced boy that Armie had met back on Valentines Day. Is definitely _not_ the person Armie was hoping to see and just…  
  
Oh.  
  
Well, that’s a bummer.  
  
“Uh, hi,” Armie says then, greeting the man. Is a little annoyed by the way his chest tightens in disappointment, can't seem to hide it from his tone. “Thanks for this. I guess I need to sign?” The other man simply nods, smiles as he extends his hand to Armie, offering him an order slip and a pen. Armie grabs the pen and hastily scribbles out his signature and a tip.   
  
“So," Armie finds himself saying, nodding towards the flowers as he hands back the slip of paper to the man. Reaches out to grab the arrangement from him and shifts so that he’s got it resting in one arm. "Do you know who put this one together, by any chance?” Feels kind of stupid the minute the question leaves his mouth. Kind of regrets it because the other man just shrugs.   
  
“Nope, I just pick them up when they’re ready,” The man replies simply, shoving the paper into his back pocket and already backing up, clearly ready to go. But for some reason, Armie keeps going. Doesn't let him leave just yet.   
  
“Right, yeah. Just...well this kid the other day, he put together a really nice bouquet for my boss,” He continues nonchalantly. His voice neutral, casual. As though he's simply just wondering. As though he doesn't have any ulterior motives here at all. “He’s kind of young. Has curly hair. Do you know who I’m talking about?” He shoves his free hand into his front pocket and watches as the man gives him a strange look.  
  
“Maybe,” He responds, shrugging again. “I mean, I’ve probably seen him before. Not too sure.” Armie nods.  
  
“Okay, awesome!” Armie says, definitely much too enthusiastically. Coughs. Reigns it back in. “Well, if you could just tell him that she really loved the bouquet, that would be great. You know, If you could uh, tell him that for me.”   
  
“Sure,” The man responds, voice hesitant. Confused. “Yeah okay, If I remember.”  
  
“Great. Okay, great,” Armie’s saying then, removing his hand from his pocket so that he can shift the box to his other side. Reaches out with his free arm to grip the man’s hand in his own. Shakes it once, twice. “Awesome, I appreciate that. Really do.” Takes a few steps backward himself.   
  
"Sure," The man says again. Voice bored. "Well you have a good day." Offers a small wave and Armie nods, watches as the man turns to leave. Lets out a long sigh once he’s gone because...just...God. He seriously has a problem.   
  
Glances down at the flowers in his arms. Rolls his eyes and turns on his heel, turns to head back to his own desk on the other side of the floor, completely ready to just drop off these stupid flowers at Sarah's office and get on with his day. But before he can do so he spots Florence sitting there at her own desk, arms crossed against her chest as she watches him, face scrunched up in confusion.  
  
“Okay,” She says, raises a brow. “So, what the hell _was that?_ ”  
  
Armie just sighs again. Rubs one hand over his face.   
  
Yeah, okay. So much for being cool and collected.  
  
  
~~~~~~  
  
  
It’s only a few days later that Armie finally gathers the courage to head back down to the flower shop. Only a few days later, after the delivery situation, that he somehow finds himself making his way there after work on Thursday evening, coat buttoned all the way up and scarf wrapped tight as he braces the winter cold.  
  
He had spent the greater part of his lunch break that day staring blankly at the empty, boring expanse of his wooden desk and the dull, grey confines of his small cubicle. And somehow, Armie had come to the conclusion, to the great realization, that his space was in desperate need of some sprucing. Yes, of course. And although he had definitely _not_ still been thinking about the cute, thin framed boy from only a few blocks away, Armie had somehow come to decide that a nice potted plant would probably be _just the thing_ to brighten up this dull, office atmosphere that he had grown to hate with such passion. Had just figured that maybe a fresh burst of nature in the corner of his desk would help him tolerate his work day a little bit more.  
  
So, before he could even try to talk himself out of it, before Armie could come up with any excuse for why this may possibly be a _bad idea_ , he had simply closed up his laptop and slipped it inside of his satchel. Had simply pulled on his jacket, grabbed his phone, and had headed for the elevator so that he could make his way outside. So that he could now find himself with his feet shuffling along the snow dusted sidewalk, legs already leading him to his destination as if all on their own.  
  
And it's only when he arrives in front of the shop doors a few minutes later that Armie feels his heart kind of kick. Is only then that he feels his confidence somewhat waver as he awkwardly stands at the curb, hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his jacket, hesitant to make any further move. Begins to wonder if maybe he should turn around, if he should just come back another day when Sarah asks him to pick up some more flowers, yet again. Begins to wonders what the hell he actually is doing here, out in the cold, stalling to enter a freaking _flower shop_ as though he was 15 years old. And all because of some nameless kid that he can't seem to get off of his mind.   
  
Briefly wonders if he's finally snapped, if he's actually starting to lose his goddamn mind at this point from the constant sleep deprivation and increasingly high stress levels at work.  
  
But then Armie finds himself recalling Valentines Day night. Finds himself thinking back to when he had finally made his way back to his apartment that night and found Nick spread out on the couch, various boxes of Chinese take-out littering the coffee table. With all of Armie’s favourite dishes pushed over to the right, untouched and waiting for him. Remembers asking his friend what the hell he was still doing home because Armie _knew_ that Nick had plans with his girlfriend that night. Remembers Nick mentioning it to him earlier that morning.  
  
And he remembers Nick just smiling at that, just telling Armie that he had changed his mind and had invited Megan over to their place instead. And when Nick told him that they had decided to have a chill night, that Armie could definitely join the two of them for a movie marathon...well, Armie had just rolled his eyes hard and tried not to laugh. Had just ushered Nick up from the couch, shoved at his friend while pushing his car keys into Nick’s open palm. Had maneuvered the other guy toward the door and simply told Nick to go enjoy his night with his girlfriend for _god's sake,_ to stop worrying about _him,_ okay?  
  
Because Armie is 24 years old. And yeah, his breakup a few months ago had sucked. That’s for sure. Definitely hadn't been the easiest of times. But he doesn't need to be coddled. He doesn't need to be pitied, okay? He's old enough to handle being on his own and doesn't need Nick to waste his Valentines night (or any night, that is) worrying about Armie or cancelling his plans with his girlfriend because really, Armie is _fine._ He is okay.   
  
So, standing here now, Armie rolls his eyes and decides to stop being ridiculous. Decides to stop acting like a high-schooler and just takes the remaining few steps forward toward the door. Lays a firm grip on the metal handle and pushes his way inside. And he's instantly met with the same, familiar sound of the door chime ringing above him as his eyes scan over the cozy shop. Pauses briefly in the doorway to stamp his feet against the entry rug, shaking the snow off of his boots and unwinds his scarf from his neck. Drapes it over his arm.  
  
The first thing he notices is that there is no store clerk in sight, that no one is currently behind the counter. And feeling slightly relieved for the momentary solitude, thankful that he can take this time to pat down his locks and unbutton his jacket, Armie takes in a long, deep breath. Attempts to calm the skittish patter within his chest as he slowly makes his way inside. The second thing he notices is just how charming the place is now that he has time to actually look, now that he’s not flying in through the door in a fit of anxiety, desperate to pick something up and be on his way. Sees how the store is practically full to the brim with flowers and greenery today. The different arrays of colours and textures adorning the shelves of all 4 walls, the air heavily perfumed with the scent of various blooms and a few lone candles lit behind the counter. Notes the soft music playing from the speaker and instantly feels cozy, warm.  
  
Armie strolls up to the counter and hesitates for only a brief second before he’s reaching out for the bell atop of it. Taps it once (only once, because he’s not an asshole) and rocks back onto his heels. Eyes steadily trained on the door behind the desk that leads to the backroom. And Armie doesn’t have much time to fret, doesn’t have much time to worry, because it only takes a few more moments before its opening, before Armie sees the flash of a blue apron and a bucket full of flowers. Feels his cheeks instantly flushing hot red and pretends to check the time, glances down at his watch casually, gives it a few beats. Then paints a smile on his face, lifts his neck expectantly to meet the gaze of…Wait what?  
  
What? _No._ _  
_  
Are you _serious?_  
  
“Hi there, how can I help you?” Locks eyes with some blonde girl, possibly the same one that he had spoken to back on Monday and feels his shoulders slump. Feels them sag. Great, of course.  
  
“Uh,” Armie manages to say, lets out a sigh. “I might actually come back another day. I forgot --”  
  
Is interrupted by the sound of the door chiming, by the sound of a loud and hurried voice echoing behind him.  
  
“Shit. I’m here, _I’m here_ ,” The voice says from behind Armie. Quickly nearing closer. “Sorry i’m late. Rehearsal ran over time and then the stupid subway had a million delays and you know how it is and --”  
  
Armie feels his throat seize up when the individual comes into view, when the young boy steps behind the counter and finally seems to realize that Armie’s standing there off to the side. The boy tilts his head, small smile playing at his lips, a look of sudden realization flashing across his eyes. Then a wider smile. Brighter.  
  
Armie doesn’t think he can fucking breathe.  
  
“Hi!” The boy says. “You were here a few weeks ago, right? I remember you.” And Armie...Armie just stares.  
  
Feels his neck flush with heat at the thought of this kid remembering _him._ Feels his palms itch where they rest at his sides because the boy is gazing at him with those wide, doe eyes and a large, happy smile that showcase slightly crooked, uneven teeth. Staring at Armie as if he’s genuinely excited to see the other man. Staring at him with pale cheeks that look bitten apple red from the March cold, with a rosy nose poking out atop of his bundled high scarf. And, jesus christ, there are fucking _snowflakes_ littering the kid’s curls. White flurries sprinkled atop of his brunette locks, a few even clinging to the ends of his lashes, making them appear heavy, damp. And just. God.  
  
He’s just really, _really_ pretty.  
  
This time though, this time Armie manages to catch himself. Only lets himself falter, only lets his brain short circuit and fry for a few short beats before he’s managing to clear his throat and offering his own smile in return. Nodding his head in recognition, smiling kindly, despite the way that the kid’s face has him already feeling out of his depth all over again. Has him feeling trapped in his own skin.  
  
Because the boy _remembers_ him. And the older man can’t help but hope that it’s not for the wrong reasons. Hopes that the other boy doesn’t remember the way he had caught Armie staring last time, how he had definitely seen Armie unabashedly letting his eyes fall from the kid’s lips to his chest, to his hands (god, those hands) and back up again. Desperately does not want to come across that same way again today.  
  
“Yeah, hi,” Armie chokes out. Nods again. “Yeah, you made me a really great bouquet. Back on Valentine's Day.”  
  
And it takes all of the man’s will power to keep his eyes trained on the boy’s face. To not let his gaze fall as the kid starts to unzip his jacket and peel it off. As he shrugs it off of his thin, slight shoulders and moves to rest it on the chair behind the counter. Definitely does _not_ let his eyes fall to the kid’s lean torso or to the way that his black t-shirt hangs just low enough that Armie can catch a glimpse of collar bones, a flash of creamy, unmarked skin just below his neck.  
  
“Yeah, I remember,” The boy replies as he slips his apron over his head, as he begins to tie it around his narrow waist. “Did she like them?” The blue of the apron compliments his skin perfectly and Armie feels his stomach flip. Has to will his face to remain neutral. Unbothered.  
  
“Yeah, she loved them,” Armie answers right away, grinning. “Thanks again." And he moves even closer now so that his right palm can rest against the counter top casually. Well, he’s pretty sure that appears casual, right? Is this what, casual, cool and collected people do?   
  
The smaller boy just grins back at him, lifts one hand to push his slightly damp curls back from his face. Then, he’s turning toward the other girl.  
  
“You should take your break, Sersh,” He tells her. “I’ll help him out.”  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chap Tim's pov. 
> 
> OH PS. I finally got a tumblr. Follow me because i'm lonely. Sunsetandvineyards.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, you beautiful people <3


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